An Unexpected Little Encounter
by tomstinkerbell
Summary: A/N: This story contains: Daddy Dom! Loki, Daddy Kink, Ageplay, DD/lg, D/s, spanking, elements of several types of sex and is NSFW. If you're not interested in any of those things, please do not read it. Loki uses a spell on her in order that he might learn his lover's deepest, darkest desires. What he discovers about her is . . . unexpected, to say the least.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:

 **This story contains: Daddy Dom! Loki, Daddy Kink, Ageplay, DD/lg, D/s, spanking, fingering, sex, anal sex, and is NSFW.**

 **If you're not interested in any of those things, please do not read it.**

His mouth descends on yours as he holds you tightly to him, and as soon as your tongues touch, something changes drastically within you. You felt as if your blood has been replaced by champagne, bubbling through your body and awakening every cell you own, such that you would swear you could feel the very air around you.

"You put a spell on me!" you accuse the moment he raises his leonine head, immediately beginning to try to escape his hold. "Loki, I told you that I don't like you using magic on me!"

You could see that he was having a hard time suppressing a smile at your indignation, then that bit of amusement disappears as if it had never been and he raises an eyebrow at you.

"Sir," you correct belatedly, sneaking a look up at him to see that it hadn't mollified him much. He's looking entirely too stern for your comfort, which causes you to shift on a bottom that is – currently – and unusually – sting-free.

"It's a very small spell, nothing that will result in anything but enhanced pleasure for you, I promise," he murmurs softly, but with absolutely no trace of apology.

Enhanced pleasure?! Dear God, how were you possibly going to survive that? The man already damned nearly killed you with ecstasy every time he so much as touched you – how were you going to survive even more?!

"And for me, it has the added element of making you a bit more forthcoming about what you might like me to do for you, to enhance your overall experience." He leaves you there, on the couch, to sit in the chair nearest it, but keeping possession of your hand, confessing, "If I'm too close to you, I'll not be able to keep my hands off of you, and I won't get any answers to my questions. You see, dearest, I have a feeling that you haven't been completely honest with me when I've asked you what it is that you like."

You know you should be outraged at what he's done to you, but because of the strange way you're feeling, it's all you can do to muster an indignant look, making more of an attempt to reclaim your hand than you had before, although he's not allowing it. "I most certainly have so!"

"I'm not saying that you've lied to me," he soothes. "Just that I have a hunch that you're withholding something – something that's important to you – and I can't have that." He brings your palm to his lips, kissing it warmly, wetly. "I want to know everything about you – I want to fulfill your every last wish." Loki looks into your eyes hypnotically. "Tell me, my darling, what is your deepest, darkest desire?"

You squirm, wanting to look away from him, but unable to, somehow, actually feeling those mental barriers you'd spent a lifetime erecting against anyone really getting to see the part of you that you hid from virtually everyone else, feeling the stark panic that resulted from that excruciating vulnerability descending on you in waves.

"No, sweetness, let me see," he encourages, as if he knows what you're thinking and feeling, squeezing your hand then letting it go, his eyes never leaving yours.

If he lived another million years, Loki could never have predicted what happened next. He watches you struggle against his magic for a moment longer and couldn't help but feel a bit of pride that you have such strength of will – few had been able to resist him this long – then mentally giving you just the slightest nudge towards him, suffusing you with what he hopes is a feeling of warmth and safety and love, such that you would be comfortable telling him anything.

But when you then get up and come to fold yourself into a small bundle on his lap, tucking your head just beneath his chin, your free hand latching onto one of the lapels of his black suit like it was a lifeline, he is absolutely flabbergasted. He actually sits there for several long moments with you on his lap without touching you in any way, experiencing the highly unfamiliar sensation of not knowing exactly what he should do from here.

Operating purely on instinct, he puts his hand on your back in what he hopes is a comforting manner, surprised when you flinch a bit away from his touch.

"Are you all right, my darling?" he asks, insisting gently that you allow him to rub your back.

You nod slowly, but say nothing.

Suddenly, he tips you backwards a bit, so that he can look into your eyes again, truly amazed at what he sees there, but knowing it's nothing fake – that it's no lie.

And he recognizes immediately that it is truly your most precious secret.

As he has made you even more ultra sensitive than you usually are, one look at his expression makes your own eyes go wide with fear, your entire body stiffening as you try to climb off his lap, chanting, "Sorry, sorry, sorry," under your breath like a prayer.

He merely tightens his arms and you can go nowhere.

"Stay still now," he whispers.

"N-no, b-but you're angry about m-me," you whisper back. "This isn't- isn't right."

Had you been looking at Loki, you would have seen his entire expression change at not just your words, but, more importantly, how you said them – your voice much higher pitched than usual, and much, much more soft and tentative, as if you expect him to fling you off of him and fly into a rage at any moment because of your very existence.

Instead, the big man gathers you to him firmly, not allowing you to squirm away, which you desperately want to do.

"This is what you've been hiding from me all this time?"

You go quiet at his question, then shrug, answering hesitantly, still very stiff and wary in his arms. "She doesn't let me out much – she wouldnta let me out now, neither."

She is so like you, and yet so not in some ways - her speech, in particular, is much less precise than yours – even more wary than you had been of him in the beginning of your relationship, and more . . . diffident, somehow, as if she's deliberately – desperately - holding herself away from him - and he is utterly enchanted by her. How could he not be?

Loki strokes your hair, and although you're not at all sure you should like it, you definitely do, and it even makes you relax a little against your will.

"Ah, yes," he answers, actually sounding somewhat abashed. "Well, I am sorry for that, but I was right that she was hiding something from me, although I had no idea it was this."

Your eyes dart up to his, and he aches to see the stark fear there as you begin to struggle against his hold again. "I can dis'ppear. I'm good at it. I won't never bother you at all. You don't never have to see me again - "

"Stay still," he orders, in the same tone he would have used with your big - which achieves his goal, but sets you to shaking in his arms, which is the last thing he wants.

You immediately find yourself cuddled tightly against his chest, where you huddle in on yourself, not at all sure what is going to happen next, but quite sure that it's probably not going to be good.

"You're her little," he states softly.

You nod reluctantly after a moment.

Something that resembles a contented rumble meets the ear that's pressed to his chest.

"Well, I have to say that it's an unexpected – if not unwelcome – twist."

Tears you've been successfully holding at bay until this moment begin to leak out of your eyes, despite his tender tone. "But it d-doesn't have to be!" You manage to lift your head and meet his eyes while they stream down your cheeks. "That's what I was just try-try-tryna to say – Big didn't think you'd be interested in this so I p-promise - " You raise your hand as if taking a vow, " - I won't ever bother you again -"

"You're not bothering me now," he interrupts calmly. "I haven't asked you to leave or magicked you away, have I?"

Damp eyes skittering to his then nervously down, staring diligently at your entwined fingers.

"No."

"No what?" he prompts gently.

His eyes are surprisingly kind when yours meet them again, however briefly. "No, Sir."

"Good girl. You said you're not allowed out very much – but you've met some of your big's lo – uh, boyfriends - before, though?"

His question is greeted with a slow nod.

"How many?" he can't stop himself from asking.

"Two."

"Only two?"

More nodding, and less shaking, he's glad to note. "And not for very long, either one of them. Big said they really weren't D-daddy material – neither of them was very innerested in me, and that's fine, because we only want the right man to be my Daddy. Big says you gotta kiss some frogs to find your Prince."

Loki smiles, realizing that she doesn't really connect him with being a Prince, for some reason.

"So you've never had a proper Daddy?" he probes.

"Nope. S'okay, though. Big says better to be safe than sorry."

"I wholeheartedly agree, but your big didn't think that you'd be safe with me?"

Another shrug. "Guess not. I don't think she thinks I'd be safe with much of anyone. She's very protective of me."

"And so she should be," Loki declares firmly, running his hand over your hair as your gaze lingers on his a bit, and he realizes with a small sense of pride that you are no longer quivering at all.

"But that means that I'm not allowed out very much, 'specially when she has a boyfriend."

"Well, I want you to know that you are always welcome to be out with me, and also that you're completely safe with me."

You give him a distinct side eye at that, and he chuckles at your skepticism.

"You are as cautious as your big, and that's probably a good thing, but I mean it. I might have gone against Big's wishes and forced you to appear to me, but I think that's a good thing. I don't like there being secrets between us, especially not about things as important as this." He leans forward to whisper in your ear, "I love your big, you see, and that means _all_ of her – including you."

You snort a bit. "You can't love me – you don't even know me! What if I'm a terrible brat who wants all of your attention and acts out alla the time to get it?"

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Is that what you're like? I should be very surprised if it is."

"No, but you still shouldn't say you love someone you don't know."

"That's a very wise statement for a little girl."

You blush at his compliment.

"And, just for your information, if you _were_ that type of little girl, I would know exactly how to deal with you."

Your head shoots up and you lock eyes with him, asking a question you're not sure you want to know the answer to.

"You would?"

He nods solemnly, saying in a voice that makes your body contract against your will, "Yes. Little girls like that need a combination of lots of strict discipline and patient reassurance, along with more love than they can handle, so that they aren't constantly doubting in their heads that they _are_ loved and cared for, which is what makes them misbehave."

At the words "strict discipline", you hide your face against his chest. "I think I'm very glad that I'm not like that."

He tips your chin up so that you have no choice but to look at him again. "I'm afraid that that's what I think most big little girls need, too, to help them feel undeniably safe and loved."

You gnaw on your lower lip, on the edge of being afraid of him again at his bold statement, then he lets go of your chin and says, "What do you most like to do most of all, little one?"

"Color!" you answer excitedly, your response entirely unguarded for the first time, and he finds himself smiling softly because of it. "I have lots and lots and lots of coloring books and tons and tons of crayons – sparkly ones and even scented ones – and I have a kit that lets me make my own, too!"

"Not movies or ice cream parlors or amusement parks . . . ?"

You shake your head. "Those costs too much money so I don't get to go to those very often," you pause for a second, then blurt out, "but I do love Build-a-Bear!"

What you said sounds completely foreign to Loki. "Bill-the-Bear?" he repeats, confused.

"No – Build. A. Bear. It's a store where you can go and pick out a stuffed animal and they make him or her right there in front of you! And then you getta buy clothes and shoes and glasses and hats and stuff for 'em! Big lets me go there every once in a while and get a new toy – but not very often."

"Whyever not?"

"Costs too much monies."

He has been beaming down at you, loving unfettered, unfiltered excitement in your face and voice. "Well, then, I think we shall have to arrange a visit there sometime soon, don't you?"

Your reaction to his suggestion is not what he would have had it be. Instead of being excited, you fold yourself against him again, reaching for his lapel and squeezing it tight in your fist. When you speak, your voice is soft and wispy and wistful. "Maybe, if Big says it's okay, but she doesn't like anyone spending too much money on her –"

"Don't I know it," he interrupts ruefully.

"And she's never let no one spend money on me before."

Loki squeezes you to him. "Well, then you're overdue, aren't you?"

Your shyness abating quickly, you nod happily, excited at the idea of maybe getting a new stuffie sometime soon.

"You let me handle big, okay?"

"'kay. Good luck with that."

He chuckles a bit at your dig at yourself. "Would you like to color now, babygirl?"

You nod against his chest. "But I don't got any of my coloring things here -"

"Ah, but there are coloring things right here for you . . . "

You look up and turn to see him wave his hand over the coffee table, and it immediately nearly groaned with coloring books and crayons.

"Oh, wow!" You are amazed at what he's done, but still don't make a move towards the treasure trove before you.

"Do you not like them?" he asks after a bit, when you're still sitting on his lap.

"No, they're – I don't even have this many at home!"

"But?" Loki prompts.

You turn back to him, eyes settling on his. "They're mine?"

He tilts his head in surprise at your question. "Yes – I wouldn't have made them for anyone else."

Loki watches you biting your lip apprehensively, hating every minute of your reluctance to embrace his gift.

"Big wouldn't like this – this is a lot of money and bother and I'm not opposed to be a bother -"

One big hand, that had been rubbing your back gently most of the time, makes its way down to cup your bottom, and you yelp and stiffen at the contact, even though he certainly hasn't hurt you.

"Littlest, I do not want to hear you say you're a bother, nor do I want you to worry about me spending money on you. I have a feeling that you couldn't be a bother to me if you tried your hardest, and money isn't something someone who is as little as you are should ever have to worry about. And," his tone became firmer but no less loving, "I _will_ have to give you a spanking if you disobey me and continue to do either of those things."

Your eyes go comically round. "No! You can't spank me – you don't know me!"

He looks down at you, his expression slightly stern. "I know your big, and she's not here right now. You are little, and I am an adult who loves your big, and to whom your big is submissive, and who is therefore – by the transitive property of littles who always need looking after - responsible for caring for you when your big is not around. So yes, I will spank you if I feel you need to be spanked."

With that, he solves the matter in the manner that is most pleasing to him, picking you up and plopping you down on the floor behind the coffee table, so that you can lean your back against the couch, then taking his place behind you, one of his long, muscular legs on either side of you, caging you in with his big body.

After a while, he peeps down over your shoulder at what you're doing, surprised to see that you have eschewed the coloring books in favor of the cache of blank paper that he also included in your gifts. "You didn't like any of the books?"

You stop coloring immediately and stiffen as if you think he's going to be angry at you. "I liked them a lot."

He does not like the return of your cautious, nervous tone, asking gently, "Well then, why aren't you coloring in them, little love?"

Loki waits a reasonable amount of time while you seem to be scrunching yourself into a smaller and smaller ball on the floor before him, but aren't answering him.

Laying his hand on your head, ruffling your hair a bit, and in a soft but implacable tone, he murmurs, "You must always tell me the truth, my darling, and you must always answer me when I ask you something. It's impolite not to, and I will not have you being impolite. It's perfectly fine if you don't like them -"

"But I do!" you sob, feeling yourself being lifted onto his lap and cuddled to him. "There's ponies and butterflies and even Tinkerbell . . ." you drift off.

"What is it then?"

You bury your face against his chest and weep piteously. "They're too hard for me!"

"Too hard?" How could coloring be too hard?

"The pitchers. They're too . . . busy and the lines are too thin and I _hafta_ color in the lines and there are too many and I always end up going outside the lines and that's wrong!"

Still holding you, he leans forward and looked at one of the books, discovering that you were right. They're beautiful pictures, but much too elaborate for someone of her age – five or so, he guesses, if that.

"I like b-big blocks of space to color in, and thick lines, so I can stay in-in-in 'em and do it right," you sniffle, stuttering as you often do when you're little and overcome by strong emotions.

"Well, we can fix that very easily," Loki says, encouraging you to watch him work his magic over the table again – making what is a very simple spell into something more visually spectacular to make you smile, so that every book now contains lots of big – much less intricate – pictures of ponies and puppies and butterflies and such that would be perfect for you.

"Oh, thank you!" You impulsively throw your arms around his neck, and he hugs you tightly, then sets you back down.

"Would you like some cocoa while you're coloring?" he asks, stroking your hair.

"Yes, pease."

It appears to your right, in a pretty sparkling pink mug with a top on it – not quite a sippy cup, but one that wouldn't spill much if you accidentally knocked it onto the floor.

"Thank you."

You miss his brilliant smile because you're facing away from him, already coloring diligently. "You're very welcome, sweetest."

After a while, he leans forward again, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "May I see what you've been doing?"

Shyly, you hold up the butterfly picture you've been working on. It's a very big book and a big picture, and you've been doing the butterfly wings in shades of pink.

"Very, very pretty!" he praises. "But I want you to come sit on my lap for a moment, honey." He helps you up, patting his lap when you seem to hesitate, suddenly struck shier, like you were earlier with him. His low, gentle but nonetheless no-nonsense, "Do as I ask, please, baby," setting your heart and your tummy to fluttering.

You comply, finding the gumption from who knows where to mutter under your breath, ""M not a baby."

Luckily, he merely chuckles at your defiant tone, letting you arrange yourself on his lap in the position that is most comfortable to you, and you end up curled up against his chest, although you're not holding onto his lapel any longer.

"I have enjoyed meeting you immensely, love."

"Thank you for the coloring stuff," you say dutifully, not knowing where this is going.

"You are very welcome. They are yours to use any time you're with me."

"I - " you begin, then censor yourself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Suddenly, you find yourself not on his lap as much as over it, his big hand on your jean covered bottom. "That is a behavior that will get you spanked very quickly, young lady. I want you to tell me what you started to say – and be forewarned, if you lie to me, I will know, and you will be punished. If you say 'nothing' to me again, you will be punished, because that is also a lie. If you remain quiet, you will be punished for disobeying me."

Horrified to find yourself in this position with him - more embarrassed than frightened, but there's definitely some of that, too - deliberately left with no option but to obey him, you say immediately, "I just w-wondered if I couldn't take-take them home with m-me, but I stopped myself."

"Why did you stop yourself from asking the question?"

You really, really didn't want to tell him, but the alternative seemed worse. "B-because they're not really mine, and they're probably expensive and I d-don't want to be a bother."

"Whose would they be if not yours? They're made to your specifications – of course they're yours. I only want to keep them here so you'll look forward to being with me again." He leans forward, cradling your jaw in his hands. "And what have I told you about those other two concepts?"

"That I couldn't bother you if I tried my hardest and that I'm . . ." you blush furiously, whispering, "I'm too little to worry about money."

"I want you to work on remembering those two things for me. I have a feeling we're going to be talking about them more in the future. I really should spank you for disobeying me about them . . . " he muses out loud as you stiffen beneath his hand, "but I think – just this once – I'll let it pass." Then he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "Now, I need to speak to your big. But will you come back and see me soon?"

"Yes, Sir," you answer, just shy of enthusiastically.

"Good."

Loki gives you a very gentle, loving kiss, and when he lifts his head, the effects of the spell have abated a good bit, although not completely, and before he realizes it, you are up and off his lap, grabbing the purse you left on his dining room table on your way to the door.

All he has to utter is one word – completely magic-free.

"Stop."

Your intellect might tell you to ignore him, but your gut won't allow it. His dominance has become too deeply ingrained in you, even though you haven't been together for all that long, and you stop mid-step, but refuse to turn around to look at him.

"Come here."

He doesn't sound angry, but then he rarely does.

For a long moment, you resist obeying him, knowing he's watching you and thoroughly enjoying your struggle.

He could always simply flick a finger and bring you to him, but that's not what he wants, and he knows it's not what you want. Besides, magicking you like that had previously been a court of last resort he'd never used. Loki much prefers that you choose to obey him without any help from him – well, not that kind of help, anyway.

Or at least that was what you'd thought until his actions tonight.

You turn and stomp your way back to him, hating the slight grin on his face at your tiny act of rebellion.

He stretches out on the couch and pulls you down onto him, slipping you off to the side just a bit so that you are between intimidating length of him and the back of the couch.

"Thank you for letting me meet her."

"Like I had a choice," you return grumpily.

He hugs you. "I am sorry for going against your preference. And I admit she was a surprise, but I knew you were hiding something from me."

"I shudder to think what you expected . . ."

That got him chuckling. "Something much more blatantly sexual, although nothing in specific, truth be told."

His answer doesn't surprise you, yet you're only half joking when you answer, "Sorry to disappoint you."

He tips your chin up, those mystical green eyes capturing yours. "Ah, but you didn't, you see. I found her an absolute delight, and such an interesting, intriguing facet to your character."

You remain unconvinced, replying in a tone laced with doubt, "Uh huh."

Loki ignores your tone. "If I may, I have questions."

"Do I have a choice?"

He merely smiles, knowing that you already know the answer to that question. "How old is she, usually?"

"Five or six or so."

As if he is aware of the fact that you are only giving him the barest bits of information, he follows up with, "But she can be younger, yes? My guess would be that she is often much younger than that."

You nod, not meeting his eyes.

"And she's never had a Daddy?"

"No."

"Because no one fit your exacting requirements?"

You lean away from him in order to glare at him. "Are you saying I'm too choosey? Which is kind of a slap at you because I chose you to become involved with, you know."

"Not at all," he returns smoothly. "That is exactly how you should be with her. She's delightfully delicate and vulnerable, and I'm glad you've taken such good care to hide her from anyone who might do her harm – deliberately or unintentionally." His eyes narrow. "But no one has?"

"No, definitely not."

"Good," he growls, his vehemence surprising you. "I was wondering if I was going to have to pay someone a visit on her behalf."

He didn't comment about the fact that she'd been that way with herself in general – not having taken many lovers in her life, and allowing even fewer than that to assume the mantle of dom for her, guarding herself against hurt as best she could by being very selective about with whom she became involved.

And you didn't mention how painfully your heart contracted at just how protective of her he was obviously already feeling, which wasn't something you would necessarily have thought would happen in this situation.

"Well, I've not felt that many of the men I've become involved with were interested in taking her on – being a dom is a lot of responsibility in and of itself, but being a Daddy to an adult little girl is so much more than that - and I've been right about that - ."

"Until this evening," he finishes for you.

That doubtful look returns full force. "You can't possibly want to take care of my little. I bet you didn't even know littles existed until she crawled onto your lap."

His eyebrow rises imperiously. "Do not presume to know what I have encountered in my lifetime, young lady. I have seen and done many things – some well beyond your ken."

Instead of rising to that bait any further, he distracts you by drawing a finger down your front, your clothes disappearing in its wake, leaving you lying naked before him by the time that fingertip reaches your navel.

"Tell me, my love," he asked, leaning down to tug a nipple into the hot, dark recesses of his mouth, "exactly what you think would be involved in caring for your little? What does she want? What does she need?"

You can't help but squirm and writhe, already panting heavily at his attentions, but you are also aware of the fact that he nonetheless expects you to answer him, although he's making it harder and harder to marshal your thoughts into anything resembling coherence. "Oohh . . uh . . . she – she just wants to be taken care of. More so the younger she is, and she wants to be younger than she allows herself to be most of the time." You know you'll regret confiding that to him, somehow, sometime, but you can't help it. When he touches you like this – in all the ways he knows will drive you crazy – you can't control your body, mouth included.

"Taken care of how?" He pulls his mouth off one hard, aching nipple only long enough to latch onto the other one.

"I – I don't know."

His head snaps up. "That is a lie."

The back of the couch seems to conveniently disappear, and you find your poor, exposed behind subjected to a flurry of sharp, stinging swats.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Your words fall on deaf ears – he doesn't stop until he thinks you've learned your lesson – and he always makes damned sure that you have. Through tears, you answer, "She wants to be loved on and cuddled and cosseted and played games with, and be fed and put down for naps even though she'll always say she doesn't want one no matter how exhausted she is, and dressed and bathed and all of that kind of thing."

"And disciplined," he added.

You frown up at him. "I think you'd be hard pressed to get either of us to admit that."

Loki chuckles. "I'll remind you that I've already made you admit it."

"Yeah, but she's an even harder nut to crack than I am."

He caught your eye, looking pensive. "She's very concerned about things she oughtn't be."

"Like what?"

"How much things cost, for one."

It's your turn to laugh. "Of course she should be concerned with that! Not all of us have unlimited funds, and getting something for her is so far down the list of priorities as to be invisible most of the time."

He did not look at all happy at that pronouncement. "And she seems inordinately worried about being a bother. Who made her feel that way?"

You almost smile at how he practically spat out that last question. "That's leftover parts of the two men I did expose her to, along with the baggage of my own upbringing as the youngest of so many children. I was always the afterthought, and - whether this was true or not I don't know, it may well just be my own skewed perception – I always felt as if I was bothering my siblings – and especially my overworked parents – when I asked about or for something. Everyone kind of . . . assumed I knew things that I didn't, because no one bothered to teach me and I didn't want to ask."

Loki kisses you gently as he hugs you. "Oh, my darling girl. I'm sorry you felt that way, but you know better than to think that of me, I hope."

He actually waits for your nodded confirmation of his statement before moving on. "And I wish her to know that, too – that she is loved and safe in my presence, that she must always be honest with me and ask for what she wants or needs, and that she could never be a bother."

"You don't want much, do you, my Prince?"

His head inclines as he watches you carefully. "I don't expect all of that immediately, but I hope to achieve it over time."

"Oh you do, do you? And who says I'm going to let you see her again?" But your face falls quickly, your bravado deserting you when you ask him plaintively, "You won't force her out again, will you?" The effects of the spell are melting away more rapidly, leaving you feeling very out of sorts about his high-handedness.

He shakes his head. "No, my darling, I will not. But I am hoping that you will eventually come to realize that I might possibly be Daddy material for her. And I am formally telling you – right here, right now - that it is a position I would very highly covet."

Just as he was amazed to encounter her not long ago, so you are amazed to hear him make that very heartfelt statement now.

With that he kisses you deeply, not giving you the time or the opportunity to respond, his fingers roaming down, over your tummy to just above that most private place, his movements causing a resurgence of the sensual elements of the spell, rendering you helpless against the powerful urge to arch your hips, offering yourself to him in a terribly lewd manner, hips undulating, trying – unsuccessfully – to rub your most sensitive spot against those elegant fingers.

But he pays that part of you no further attention for the moment.

"I ask this question for my own information, and I shall make no judgment about your response at all – it will not change how much I want to assume that position for her – but is she sexual, or completely innocent?"

Those fingers still hover well above where you want them, and that's all you can think about, which only gets a million times worse with his next words.

"Part your legs for me, woman," he whisper-growls, and you do as he commands immediately, although his hand remains where it is.

"Sh-she's – I think – sexual, although she's never had a Daddy, so I'm not all that suuuuuuurrrrrrreeeeeee!" As you finished your sentence, he stakes his claim to every bit of you at once – his hand so big and fingers so long that he could cover all of you at once without much effort.

"Mmmmmm. You are deliciously wet, my darling, and I have a feeling that it's not such my touch that has brought you to this. It's talking about this subject – this very private, very personal subject - with you that has done this to you. Admit it."

"Lo – Sir, I – unnhhhhhhhhhhh - "

He rams his fingers into you, three abreast, fingertips always unerringly settling against the part of you that is most vulnerable to him, rubbing that spot demandingly as he plunges his hand in and out of you to the sounds of your intense pleasure.

"I'm sorry," he purrs. "I didn't quite get that."

Swallowing hard on a suddenly parched throat, you try again. "Yes, yes – it has. Is that what you want to hear?!"

Far from being angry at your passionate response, he grins, "Most definitely, because, as always, my own response to your arousal is to experience the same, only much, much more acutely." He brings your hands to him, the suit pants and the rest of his clothing dissolving at your touch, using both hands to hold him because you absolutely have to.

Tucking you beneath him, the sheer size of him – of his entire body in comparison to yours – always making you feel wonderfully overwhelmed as he brings your legs up around his waist, placing the broad head of his cock at your entrance, where it is constantly bathed in the honey you only ever produce for him.

As he takes you, he looks down into your eyes, watching them grow bigger even as he does within you, expanding and lengthening as he joins your bodies, reveling in the tightness of you around him as you wiggle slightly beneath him, breathlessly trying to come to grips with his occupation of you, which he is aware is still – even after all these months – just shy of painful, especially at first each time he takes you.

But he doesn't give you much time to adjust before he reaches between you to worry your little clit mercilessly – the same way he pounds himself into you, bringing you to violent peak after peak, whether you want to or not.

That choice – like so many others - is no longer your own. He will do with you what he wants, within the few limitations that you have set. You have long since granted him almost unrestricted power over you, and, despite the punishments – which are sometimes quite severe and also sometimes simply for his own pleasure – he has never once done anything that you found objectionable.

Until now.

As the pleasure ebbs and recedes, so do the last remaining threads of the spell, to be replaced with not inconsiderable amounts of both anger and resentment.

When he finally rolls away, keeping you tucked tightly against him, you give yourself time to recover within the circle of his arms, and then, as he has told you he expects you to be at all times, you are completely straight with him about how you are feeling about his actions this evening.

As deeply destroyed as he always is by your lovemaking, Loki sits up at the sound of your voice with a frown.

"I'm not happy, Loki. As a matter of fact, I'm very _un_ happy about how you manipulated me to get to her. That is something that should have been in my control, not yours. Maybe you would have met her eventually, maybe not. But that was my choice, and not one you should have taken away from me."

You sit up and start to put your clothes on.

Callused, masculine fingertips trail down your spine, and you can feel the real regret in his touch. He might be a largely omnipotent God, with all of the ego and pride that goes along with that, but – in your experience – he had also never hesitated to admit when he'd done something wrong. "I am sorry. I overstepped my bounds and I apologize wholeheartedly, although in my defense, you never specifically said that I was banned from using magic on you. But I knew your feelings about it and I did it anyway, which was wrong. Please forgive me."

Ignoring him as much as you can, you stand, stepping into your heels. "I didn't think I needed to include it as a hard limit, which is my own fault, I admit. But I don't think I can forgive you." At least, not right now, you think, but you don't say that out loud. "I'm going home. Don't call me, I'll call you."

"What does that mean?"

You're at the door, and have to yell back at him, "It means don't try to contact me – in any way. If I want to talk to you, I'll get in touch with you. And that includes my dreams, by the way . . . "

Suddenly, he is right next to you, completely naked and already half aroused again.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. And I _am_ truly sorry."

You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and see it on his face.

"I know you are, and you haven't hurt me, exactly. I just . . . I'm having a hard time not feeling . . . violated, I guess. Our kind of relationship, in particular, is built on a lot of trust, Loki – it has to be, considering the amount of control over myself I've ceded to you - and what you did – even though it turned out okay in the end – broke some of the trust I have in you, and I need to think things out."

"I understand," he replies gravely. "Please be safe and be good to yourself, until – I hope – I can do that for you again myself. But I will never be more than a thought away, should you need me."

"I know."

"I love you," plainly, rawly and unhesitatingly offered.

Were those tears in his eyes?

"I love you, too," you reply, refusing to look up at him anymore, barely able to resist the urge to throw yourself into his arms, literally forcing yourself to step out the door, closing it behind you with a terrible finality.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:

 **This story contains: Daddy Dom Loki, Daddy Kink, Ageplay, DD/lg, D/s, spanking, fingering, sex, anal sex, and is NSFW.**

 **If you're not interested in any of those things, please do not read it.**

You are amazed at the fact that, over the past three weeks, Loki has done exactly as you've asked and not contacted you – overtly – in any way whatsoever.

Oh, you've felt him occasionally around the periphery of your consciousness, once quite strongly when you were very upset by something that happened at work and crying hard, but the few other times have all been when you were getting ready for bed, and you weren't at all sure that it wasn't just a familiar feeling left over from how he always watched you from where his long, powerful length was reclined on the bed - naked, as he preferred, and unabashedly aroused, as always, it seemed, around you – eying you undressing with an interest that only appeared to increase with time.

At those times, he reminded you of a pasha watching a concubine performing a very private dance for him, those brilliant eyes mere slits, sometimes unable or unwilling to resist the urge to stroke himself as you put away the heels you'd doffed the second you entered your apartment, shinnied out of your hose - tossing them into your lingerie bag - standing before your closet to hang your suit coat, then slipping out of the short, tight skirt to clip them together on the hanger before your fingers find the small buttons of your blouse.

Still unable to shake that feeling that you're being watched, you'd turned around quickly, expecting to catch him there on your bed behind you, looking as if he was barely able to keep himself from stalking over to you and taking you right where you stand.

But he wasn't there – you'd never caught him, although the feeling was undeniable.

Now it was Saturday, going on four weeks since you'd walked out his door, and you think you're probably ready to see him again. Normally, you'd call a guy or text him or email him or even Facebook message him to get a hold of him.

But Loki is far from a normal guy.

So you have to marshal your thoughts very carefully – and make sure you are absolutely sure about what you'd decided – before you so much as allowed yourself to _begin_ to think that you might want to see him.

Because, as you expect, as soon as you allow yourself to have that thought, he's standing before you, in full armor, and your entire body clenches at just how incredibly sexy he is.

He knows how much you love to see him like this.

Of course, when he appears, his arms are already around you – hell, despite the modesty flap, he's damned near inside you – but you step away, knowing that you have to use the element of surprise in order to get him to let go of you.

You can't get far, however, as he shadows your every move, so close to you that you can feel his warm, coffee flavored breath on you no matter where you go to try to shake him.

And he is frowning fiercely down at you the entire time, which – even now – has the ability to make your knees tremble a bit. "What is this? You called for me, and I am here." He lifts his chin, making himself look even more imperious than he usually does. "Who _owns_ you, woman?"

He might have roared it with the way he is feeling, overjoyed at seeing you again and not happy at being thwarted when he wants to touch you, but he consciously doesn't. Instead, it comes out almost too calmly, much too controlled, and that itself is a warning.

Loki is only slightly mollified at your immediate, unhesitating answer. "You do. But I want you to stop shadowing me and give me some space, please, Sir."

The impulse to roar is starting to win more than he would like. "Space? I've given you space for nearly the past month, during which I honored your wishes to the letter . . . mostly What more do you want from me, and more importantly, who do you think is in charge here?"

Your hands are out in front of you to keep him away from you, as if you don't know the absolute futility of the act, and he has allowed you to move a few feet away without pressing himself up against you again like you are leading him in some strange kind of dance.

"You are, Sir."

Again hearing no hesitance in your reply, he is somewhat appeased, his expression one of open inquiry rather than annoyance. "You are certain that that is still your choice?"

You know exactly what it takes for him to ask that question. You have absolutely no doubt that his first impulse when he realized that you were thwarting his desire to touch you was to simply pick you up and carry you to your bed, where he would hold you down and make you thoroughly regret your misguided impulse in very many terribly creative ways that would leave you begging him wholeheartedly to stop whatever he was doing – whether it was punishing or pleasuring you.

It's in his posture and his tone – trying to put up a good front and make you think that he doesn't really care what your answer is, that it's of no consequence to him whatsoever whether or not a little mortal female wants him to continue their relationship.

He shouldn't have to _ask_ – he should simply take what he wants from you. He has the power and the strength, even without his magic.

But he _does_ ask, and you know what that says about how he feels about you. He's already told you.

He loves you.

"Yes, it is," you answer clearly, strongly, deliberately meeting his eyes, "if you're still interested in being with me."

"It would appear that I am more interested at the moment than you are," he can't resist sniping a bit.

You try not to roll your eyes. "Loki – Sir, I just want to talk to you – we have things we need to get settled _before_ we pick up where we left off."

A muscle tics in his jaw, and you know you're trying what little there is of his patience when he wants something as badly as he apparently wants you at this moment.

There are long beats of a bit of a stalemate, neither of you moving, until he sighs heavily, as if you've asked him to swear off sex for the next decade rather than just to postpone his amorous attentions for a few minutes until you can discuss what happened between you weeks ago and come to some sort of arrangement or agreement about it.

He turns away from you suddenly and sinks down onto your small couch, making it look even smaller, then pats his lap. "Come sit."

"On your lap?" you practically squeak, knowing that being that close to him is going to be a challenge to your resolve, too – to say nothing of his.

His heavy glare gooses you to start walking towards him. "If you are going to make me discuss things when I should be already be buried deep within you, hearing your cries of pleasure from beneath me, then I want you as close to me as I can get without that."

The way he put his demand has you failing to prevent a telltale whimper from escaping your lips as you settle yourself where he wants you, his arms tightening around you.

Then he amazes you by speaking first, asking, "Have you decided whether or not I can interact with Littlest?"

Your errant mind registers that you like that he calls her that, but he's caught you off guard, and has trained you to respond to him quickly, so you answer without thinking. "Yes, but -"

Loki is very satisfied with your answer – you can even see a bit of a smile playing about the corners of his lips. "I am glad, and honored that you trust me so. I wish to speak to her now."

"Now?!" You're very surprised at his order, but can't think quickly enough of a reason why he can't.

"Now," he repeats crisply, and you know you had better not disobey him when he uses that voice.

His demeanor, though – while not angry, exactly – is hardly welcoming, and when she does appear, your little slips off his lap to run away from him and into what she considers to be the relative safety of your room.

When he finds you there, any remnants of annoyance or anger dissolve at the sight of you huddled on top of a Tinkerbell toy box that has appeared in the corner of you room – since there was no longer any need to hide it from him – clutching a stuffed bear that's dressed in pink sparkly jammies and shaking visibly as you do so, turning away from him to look out the window when he enters the room, as if not seeing him meant that he couldn't see you.

"I'm very sorry if I scared you, little one," he murmurs as he slowly makes his way into the room, realizing that you even look smaller than you usually do. "I would never mean to do that."

No response from you, although his proximity seems to increase your trembling, which creates an altogether unpleasant pressure in his chest.

But he doesn't stop until he's sitting on the floor across from you, his dark grey sweatered back up against the bed, long legs that are now clad in black jeans so as to appear much less threatening than he did before stretched out in front of him.

Keeping his voice very soft and comforting, he hopes, Loki says, "I like your bear; she's very pretty, just like you. Is that one of the Build-A-Bears you mentioned that your big bought for you?"

Still nothing, only he can now hear that you're snuffling back tears and everything in him wants him to grab you and lift you into his arms to hold you tight and reassure you that you are safe, but he's not sure that that would be the right thing to do at the moment, not wanting to scare you any further.

"I like her pajamas, too. Does she have a name, I wonder?" beginning to play in front of him with small, silly magicks that have sounds he thinks might be enticing to little girls, with lots of sparkles and bright lights that don't really do anything, but he hopes will intrigue you enough to turn towards him.

Silence greets his inquiry, but you do shift restlessly, as if you're trying to resist the urge to change your position so that you can see what he's doing that's causing those curious sounds.

The spells do their own things, so that he can watch you closely - if covertly - and eventually, he sees that you have – however reluctantly – turned yourself just enough to catch the light and sound display he's created, although he makes no move that would alert you to the fact that he's noticed that you're watching.

Instead, he changes things up, creating rainbows and unicorns and puppies and anything he thinks this part of you might like to see, all while he gages your reactions to them and him. He moves his leg at one point, and you flinch away, but he simply drapes his arm over his drawn up knee.

"May I be introduced to your friend?" he asks quite seriously.

Your eyes flit to his nervously, then to your stuffie, and you remain quiet for a long moment, then, just as he's working on a few new tricks for you, you whisper – almost so softly that he misses it – "This is Arielle."

Loki inclines his head towards the bear, crossing his right forearm across his chest formally, responding politely, "I am very happy to meet you, Miss Arielle. I am Prince Loki, but as you are such a good friend of ours, you may call me Loki."

That earns him an almost smile. "She knows what your name is!"

He feigns surprise. "She does? Whyever does she know my name when I've never met her before, I wonder?"

"Because _I_ know your name," you answer shyly.

"Ah. That's probably right, hmmm?" For a moment, he simply lets you enjoy the show and, hopefully, become more comfortable being near him. "Do you think that I might hold Miss Arielle? I'll be terribly careful of her – she's small and delicate, like you, and I promise you that I would never do anything to hurt her – or you."

He can see you tighten your arm around the bear protectively. "You said you'd spank me – that would hurt me," she points out bravely, and he has to smile.

"I would only ever spank you if I have to – if you misbehave," he answers truthfully.

"But -"

Loki cocks his head a little. "But what, little love?"

You squirm uncomfortably, but ask it anyway, reaffirming Loki's decision to ask to speak to your little – she has less of a filter than your big does, and is likely to say or ask or do anything. Whispering again, "But you spank Big when she hasn't misbehaved."

Your precociousness delights – and challenges - him. "Ah. Yes, I do." He takes a moment to think before he responds. "Sometimes I spank your Big simply because I enjoy spanking her, but that's not something you need to worry about. It's not something I would ever do to you."

He feels your eyes – clear and innocent and maybe a bit trusting, even, he is heartened to see – settle on his. "Promise?"

Loki can't help but smile as he solemnly raises his hand and vows, "I promise that the only time I will ever punish you, Littlest, is when you have disobeyed or misbehaved, although you might eventually find that it's something you enjoy, too – as does your Big."

He actually chuckles at your big eyed snort.

"But that would be something we would only deal with if it came up – so nothing for you to worry about now."

You can feel his gaze on you as you watch the magic show he's putting on.

"So, since that's settled, do you think I might be trusted to hold Miss Arielle?" he asks again.

And, after a moment, you lean down and give her to him, and with no one to hug, you hug your arms around yourself, feeling bereft.

Loki handles her very carefully and gently as he examines her. "My, my, she is very pretty, isn't she? And soft, too!" He brushes her cheek against his, then kisses it, and tucks her into the curve of his arm at first.

"She's not a baby, neither."

"Oh, my mistake. Then she'll want to sit up, won't she?" He rearranges her so that she's sitting on his lap, but is still cradled against his arm. Then he lowers his voice, speaking directly to the bear. "I wanted to get to know you better, Miss Arielle, because I know you're very special to your little girl. And I want you to know – just like your friend's big does – that you are completely safe with me. And so is Littlest. Always."

"But you're so big," he hears you whisper hesitantly from your seat on the toy box.

His eyes flit up to yours for a second, then down to the bear's chocolate brown ones. "I am big, that's true, but I hope you can come to feel – like Big does – that that lets me be just that much more protective of you; that my size – as well as my magical abilities – are parts of what help me keep you safe. I can throw knives and fight well and I'm big and strong so that I can defeat any and all manner of monsters that might try to hurt my girls."

"You can?" comes the disbelieving whisper.

Loki answers honestly, and from his heart, still speaking to the bear, but acutely aware of other little ears that are listening. "I most definitely can, and I will. I have told your big this and I will say it to you freely and of my own volition – I would lay down my life for you."

When he is through with his little speech, he notices that you are now sitting on the edge of the box, biting your lip, looking as if you might want to come nearer to him, but he doesn't push.

Instead, he addresses the bear, standing her on her paws in front of him, although she's not built to stand on her own, she does. More than that, with a flick of his hand, she moves on her own, too, swaying and dancing to the tune that's being played as a background to his tricks.

"She's moving!" Loki grins at your pure wonderment.

That is what gets you to forget any of your concerns and walk right through his magics, which he dispels immediately, to plop down in front of Arielle in amazement as she walks right into your arms and whispers in your ear that she loves you.

"And she talks!" You practically crush her to you in a huge hug, then get up to stand in front of him. "Thank you, Loki – Sir."

He smiles up at you. "Good girl. And you're welcome. I don't think she'll be able to do it very often, because being real is very, very tiring for stuffed bears, but I think she'll come alive for you sometimes, because she does love you very much."

Loki can see you shifting your feet uncertainly, looking as if you might want to sit on his lap, but are unsure how to broach the subject. So he solves your dilemma by raising his arms to you, asking softly, "May I have a hug, too, lovely?"

It's all he can do to hold back tears when you slowly step into his arms to wrap yours around his neck, if still somewhat tentatively.

"Would you like to sit on my lap?" He watches you bite your lip, but waits patiently for you to decide what you want to do, feeling a special warmth suffuse him – replacing that horrible tightness in his chest - when you finally curl yourself onto his lap, although he can feel that you're still holding yourself a bit stiffly. "Thank you, dear heart. That makes me feel very good!"

"It does?"

"Of course! You're very important to your big, and so you're even more important to me." He pats your back gently, gaging your response to him touching you, and when you don't seem to mind, he actually begins to rub gently. "I am sorry to have frightened you when you first appeared today – I should have been more careful of my tone and attitude."

"'S okay."

"I'm glad that your big let you visit me again."

"I – I am, too," you agree a bit haltingly.

"Good! Although it won't be all magic and playing all the time when we're together, you know."

"Why not?"

"Because your big told me about some of the ways you might like a Daddy to care for you, and, although I'm not your Daddy yet, I want to do those kinds of things for you, doll. I want to be your Daddy. I want to tuck you in at night and maybe sing to you or read to you, and hold you when you're sick or scared, and put you down for a nap when I think you need it -"

You shake your head vehemently back and forth. "No naps. 'llergic. Turrible 'llergic to naps."

He runs reaches down to pat your bottom, making you wiggle nervously. "Well, that's not something littles get to decide about, because it's a Daddy's responsibility to make sure you get enough sleep, even if that means being put down for a good, long afternoon nap. Especially if you've been fussy or naughty."

You continue to look up at him, but don't say anything immediately.

"How would you feel about that possibility – me becoming your Daddy?"

"Don't know, 'cause I don't really know you, so I don't really know what you'd be like as a Daddy."

Loki nods "That's a fair point. Well, since your big has okayed you being around me, we'll have to make sure I see lots of you, and then we'll talk about it again."

"'Kay."

He taps the tip of your nose gently. "Thank you for sitting on my lap, littlest. I know it wasn't easy to do when I'd scared you before."

"Welcome."

"I need to talk to Big now, but you can always see me any time she does, okay?" he holds you tightly to him, rocking the two of you just a bit back and forth.

"Huh-huh."

"Be good," he admonishes, but it's Big who answers him.

"That's no fun at all!"

With a growl, and before you could say anything else, you find yourself completely stripped and bent over the edge of the bed as he kicks your feet wide apart, not satisfied until you are entirely – and embarrassingly - exposed to him.

He leans down to cover you completely with his big body, nuzzling your neck, biting right where neck becomes shoulder, then licking his way – passionately, possessively – down your bare back. "It seems as if I have waited lifetimes to have you again, my love. I hope you don't expect to get any sleep for the rest of the weekend . . ." he growls against your skin, one hand holding your neck, pinning you down, while the other roams over every inch of you, as if refamiliarizing himself with the feel of your flesh beneath his fingertips, sensitizing all of you at once until you're left panting and trying to writhe, but he's got you bound in too many ways for you to be able to move much at all.

"And so wet again, my darling!" his eager fingers discover. "Too bad that's not where I'm going to be," he chuckles, feeling your stiffen somewhat in anticipation of what he's going to do to you.

Hands – familiar and his, but in too many places at once – milk your breasts quite aggressively, almost painfully, pin you down at the back of your neck, and keep your knees and ankles spread while mercilessly teasing your clit as well as completely filling your juiciness, rendering you completely helpless against anything he might choose to do to you.

And you already know what it is that he's going to do.

Soon you feel more fingers depositing his special potion of slickness at your bottom flower, one - at first - spreading it inside you, also. You can't flinch away and you try not to tense - with only moderate success - because you know this is going to happen whether you want it to or not.

And that makes you even hotter than you already are.

What replaces his hand is definitely _not_ more fingers. It's much too big and thick, pressing slowly into you – just barely - teasing you, driving both your desire and your apprehension to a fever pitch as he makes you wait.

When he finally decides to take you, he does it in on powerful, torturously slow but inexorable stroke that leaves you gasping, begging him to stop when you know he won't – hearing him laugh in that almost alarming way, surprised that you even bothered to ask it of him – not stopping until you feel his balls slapping against your pussy, groaning as he leans into you to make sure he's firmly seated within you while his fingers continue to dance on your clit, distracting you – mostly – from any discomfort you feel.

But Loki believes that a healthy dose of discomfort – of various kinds - is a good thing for you to experience, along with the raw ecstasy he brings to you. He likes the balance of it, and almost never pleasures you without having also granted you some sort of pain that you must push past in order to more fully appreciate the pleasure he bestows upon you.

Of course, sometimes it's all pain and that is the hardest for you to bear, but you do so – proudly – for him.

He surprises you then by reaching down to yank you up onto your knees by your hair, keeping you there, your back arched awkwardly, still deeply pegged by his cock and trying to deal with that, while a mirror appears in front of the two of you, and you are forced to watch him groping your breasts painfully as he fucks your ass – _hard_ \- from behind.

And he makes you love it. He makes you beg him for more, for him to take you even more forcefully, to not go easy on you as you feel the invisible fingers on your swollen, raw button adjusting their rhythm based on what he's doing to you at any given second, and they only allow your bliss to truly come to the forefront when he is close to his own culmination.

"Sometimes a little magic isn't such a bad thing, now, is it, pet?" he chuckles evilly into your ear. "Now cum for me before I change my mind or I will repeat this little scene every night for the next month and not allow you such liberties until I think that you have learned your lesson and can obey your master -"

He always knows exactly what to say and do to send you off into space, and this time is no different. It's so powerful, so terrifyingly overwhelming that you can't help but try to fight him from the first soul-ripping contraction, but he will not allow you to escape any bit of it as you scream his name and beg for mercy that you know will not be forthcoming. Instead, as he reaches for his own climax, he drags you through six more of your own, each wilder and more primitive than the one before, until, by the time he's pumping the last of himself into you, you are still contracting helplessly around him, but are hanging limp in his arms like a rag doll.

But your mind still registered it when he screamed your name as he first began to spurt his seed within you, and you are aglow with pride that he did.

Within seconds of the end of his culmination, you are tucked in next to him, beneath the sheets, naked and still terribly sensitive and not really very coherent, but you know you don't need to be, either. He will see to you – he will see to _everything_ \- especially to making sure that you are clamped tightly to his side, where you belong, being petted and fawned over, soft kisses pressed to your cheeks and throat as his hands roam a bit restlessly – and still very possessively - over you.

"Okay?" he asks, as is his habit in the aftermath, needing reassurance that he hasn't accidentally hurt you in the depths of his mindless, uncontrollable, passionate need for you.

"Yes, Sir," you whisper breathlessly, not bothering to open your eyes as he turns the two of you onto your sides - the way you like to sleep - wrapping himself around you so that you are pretty much surrounded by him, cocooned by his warmth.

Although you would swear that you have no mind left at all any more after that, a niggling thought comes to the fore, and you can't prevent yourself from asking, "You understand the difference between the way you used magic tonight and before, right? You understand why I was upset?"

There is no trace of impatience or anger in his tone. There had better not be, since it was a rule for you – just as much as it was becoming one for your little – that you had to tell him what you were thinking – you were not allowed to suppress your thoughts or feelings, but were required to voice them to him – respectfully, of course.

"I absolutely do. Please don't concern yourself about that any longer. I was wrong to use my talents in that manner, and I shall not repeat the error."

You hadn't realized how tense you had grown in anticipation of his response until you feel yourself relax back into his all encompassing embrace. "Thank you."

Loki kisses your shoulder, brushing your hair away from your face in a manner that is so tender it is very nearly reverential. "You are welcome, my love. Sleep now. I can't promise I'll let you do so for long, so you must take it while you can."

You aren't surprised to hear that, considering that you can already feel him rising eagerly against your still dripping slit.

"Thank you for being so good to her, Loki."

"Sleep," he growls against your throat, then whispers, "She is easy to be good to – she's you. I adore her just as much as I do you. Now sleep, or I shall have to find a way to encourage you to do so."

It's not even an act in response to his threat – his promise that you're asleep within the next few breaths, which are full of the intoxicating, sexual scent of him.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:

 **This story contains: Daddy Dom! Loki, Daddy Kink, Ageplay, DD/lg, D/s, spanking, fingering, sex, anal sex, and is NSFW.**

 **If you're not interested in any of those things, please do not read it.**

Having spent some time with your little, Loki seems to be quite determined to get to know her better. He never comes to see you without asking to see her, too, often – but not always - bringing her small presents – more and different crayons, a small box of chocolates, and once a finger painting kit that she was vehemently sure that her big was not going to like her using one bit.

Loki had chuckled at that. You were sitting on the couch with him, cuddled up against his side because he had lifted you onto the couch with him, encouraging you to do so when you had stood nearby, twirling a lock of your hair in your left hand and looking hesitant about approaching him. "And why do you say that, little one?"

"'S messy. It'll get all over me an' you an' everythin' else in between and Big'll be mad."

He squeezed you a bit, his fingers playing with your hair, needing and wanting physical contact with you – even in the most innocent of ways - and knowing, deep in his heart, that your little needed and wanted to be touched, too, although you are much too reticent to ask for such things. He wanted your little to become as accustomed to his touch as your big was. "I think you forget three things, sweetie."

"What things?"

"One, you are not to think about adult matters while you're with me, are you?" he asked pointedly.

That had been one of the first rules he'd established for you, not that he'd made many. When you were with him and little, you were not allowed to worry about the things he'd been horrified to realize you were concerned about – money, bothering him, messes, etc. Those were all things that he would take care of, along with you, he'd informed you.

"Oh."

Loki's eyebrows rose, his tone slightly scolding. As he had gotten to know you, he had come to realize that Littlest was quite fragile in some ways – although strong in others – and that she was very sensitive to being reprimanded in any way. Therefore, he tried to convey his rare displeasure as gently as possible, always keeping your sensitivity in mind, and was consciously very generous and effusive with his praise. "Is that how you should respond to me, Littlest?"

Your face brightens and you try to hide it against his chest. "No," you whisper.

Still, he won't allow you to hide from him, finding and tipping your chin up so that you have to look into his eyes. "And what should you say?"

You bite your lip, feeling your blush growing much worse, "Yes, Sir."

"Good girl. And the second thing is that you should no longer be concerned about how Big expects you to behave, but rather how I do."

You gasp at that idea, your eyes finding his quiet, calm ones, inspiring you to say again, "Yes, Sir," although you know that this concept is going to require a considerable adjustment in your mind, but he distracts you by continuing.

"And, lastly, I think you're not taking into account who I am."

You crane your head back a bit, so that you can get a better look at him, and this makes him smile, especially when you ask in a voice that is both curious and a bit in awe at the same time, "Who _are_ you?"

"I am Prince Loki." He was going to mention being a God, but then decides it's not really necessary to do so. "I can do magic, as you already know, such that if you should spill anything anywhere, I can clean it up and, I promise, you shall not hear anything about it from your big."

You gave him a suspicious look, but he merely smiled back at you. He proved the truth of what he was saying by having you finger paint right then and there, and, of course, you accidentally pressed your completely purple hand against a tan couch cushion, immediately dissolving into tears upon doing so.

He had gathered you onto his lap, soothing you with his voice and his hand on your back so that you weren't crying as hard, then beguiling you by whispering, "Watch this."

He waits until you unbury your face from his shoulder and turn it towards where his hand is hovering over the cushion. Then he waves his hand over the stain, and it begins to sparkle brightly, then disappears with a puff of green smoke, and without a trace.

"Wow! That's a neat trick!" You turn shyly back to him, saying, "Thank you, Sir."

He kisses you gently on the top of your head, saying, "You are most welcome, my darling girl."

One evening, when the two of you are basking in the afterglow, your head resting on his strong shoulder as you lie there, bonelessly, in his arms, he tells you that he wants to take your little to an amusement park sometime soon.

You sit up a bit to look down at him, and he begins to touch you again – your face, your hair, your shoulder - as he is wont to do.

"Tell me your objections," he says, not nastily, but expectantly – because he knows you - but then you look more hesitant than as if you're going to veto the idea entirely.

"I – I don't think I really have any – you just surprised me, I guess."

"Well, I'm glad I'm still able to do that," he comments wryly, bringing the back of your hand to his lips and looking over it at you mischievously.

You can't help but to smile at him. "Stop. I just . . . I guess I'm having a hard time dealing with you wanting to Daddy her – or maybe the problem I'm having is more that I would never have pegged that as being something you'd actually _want_ to do, so . . . yeah."

He leans up, too, and is again – as always – taller than you, kissing you gently. "And what have I told you about thinking too much?" he warns, his voice making you squirm.

"I'm sorry! It's a lifelong habit – it's not easy to break!"

He leans towards you almost menacingly, growling, "Do I need to give you some encouragement in that area, woman?"

"No, Sir!" you say immediately, hoping it's going to be enough to deter a punishment, but you never know with him. "I'll get better curbing that impulse, I promise!"

He tilts his head a bit, still looking as if he's seriously contemplating disciplining you as he draws his hand down your bare back from just beneath your hair, fingertips massaging gently until they reach your bottom, which he cups possessively, pulling you even more tightly to him. "See that you do, my darling," he warns. "See that you do."

Although you try to pin him down about when he's likely to do this, Loki decides to leave it as a surprise for your little and refuses to tell you. So when he appears at your door very early one morning, laughing out loud at your fierce scowl at having been awakened in what you consider to be the dead of night, he tugs you into his arms and kisses you, although you surprise him by struggling quite mightily against his hold, until he contracts his arms and stills you completely.

When his head rises, you can't help but turn your head way, covering your mouth with your hand, saying, "Oh, Sir, I'm sorry!"

He frowns, completely baffled by your behavior. "About what?"

"Morning breath!"

He lets you go, because he can no longer hold you when he's laughing so hard. You hadn't heard him laugh like that in a while, and, although you know he's laughing at you, you love the sight of it.

"Well, you got me out of bed – I never had a chance to brush my teeth!"

You turn to head to the bathroom to do so right this minute, but you find your hand caught and yourself yanked – gently - back to slam up against him as he bends you back and kisses you again, most improperly – and bravely - considering.

When he lifts his head, he murmurs, "Do you realize what people – especially regular people – used to smell like until less than a hundred years ago? You – with your overnight breath –"

"Morning breath," you correct.

"Morning breath - smell like a garden of roses in comparison, I promise you, my love."

"Still, I'll go brush my teeth -"

But he refuses to let go of your hand, no matter how hard you try to reclaim it. So you turn to face him in confusion.

"Sir?"

Bringing your hand to his lips, he kisses it, cupping your cheek in his other hand. "Not yet. I have plans for us today."

You almost squee out loud. His surprises were always the best – after he'd taught you the very hard way - not to be concerned over money! Once he took you to Egypt – because you'd mentioned an interest in Egyptian history and archeology, another time he remembered that you had had a great love for horses as a child but never got the chance to spend much time around them so he took you horseback riding, and another time it was to dinner in the city and a Broadway play, always first class the entire time, of course.

"Really?!" You can barely manage to hold still.

He is always happy when you're excited. "Yes, lovely . . . but not for you . . ." He stares at you pointedly.

It takes you but a second before you exclaim, "You're -", and less than another second for Littlest to squeal, "- kidding me!" while jumping up and down for joy, which was something your big hadn't done in years.

"We're really going to any amusement park?" you ask Loki, still jumping up and down.

"Really," he answers, jumping up and down with you.

As soon as he confirms it, though, you barrel right into him, chanting, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" and he "oofs!" dramatically, then catching you up in his arms and holding you above his head, making you squeal again. When he puts you back down, he says, "So, we need to get you ready to go, hmmm? We should get there early to avoid as much of the crowds as we can." He knows that – for something like this, you'll put up with them – but in general, you really don't like crowds. They're stressful for you.

You turn and head for the bedroom, surprised when he follows you in there, taking the generic shorts and t-shirt combination you were in the middle of grabbing out of your hands, putting them back in the drawer and closing it.

"Do you not have any special clothes that are just for you, babygirl?" he asks pointedly.

Your face goes crimson, and you refuse to meet his eyes. "Yes, Sir."

Loki sits down on the bed. "Why don't you show them to me, and we'll see if any of them would be appropriate for today."

Blushing almost painfully, you nonetheless make your way to the closet, looking back at him once to see if he might relent, but he gives you that look that says you'd better obey him and you put a bit more spring into your step, producing a Tinkerbell suitcase that's kept at the back of your closet, wondering the entire time how he could possibly have known about its existence, or if he'd just guessed that you probably had clothes for your little hidden somewhere.

It's on rollers and you drag it reluctantly over to Loki, who smiles broadly when he sees it. "I can't tell you how happy it makes me to know that you own this – no matter what's in it."

He pulls it up onto the bed next to him and unzips it, and takes out a pink blouse with a round, ruffled collar and a pink embroidered unicorn where the alligator might go. There are pink shorts with pastel appliqué flowers and butterflies, as well as a pair of denim shortalls and a pretty t-shirt with embroidered pink and blue flowers on the edges of the sleeves and the hem to go with it. The last two things at the bottom of the suitcase he removes together – two pairs of very obviously little girlish cotton panties, one with pink and white bows on it and one pair with kittens.

"Which of these do you want to wear today, little one?" he asks, holding them up.

You are too embarrassed to respond, standing there fidgeting in front of him.

When you don't say anything, he asks, "Do you want me to pick for you?"

You nod.

He chooses the kittens, and those would have been what you would have picked anyway.

Loki stands. "Now, shortalls or shorts?"

Forgetting to be embarrassed, you squinch your face up. "Well, I like the shortalls a lot, but you hafta get all undressed to go pot –" You can feel the heat creeping up your neck again and you can't quite finish the word.

"Potty?" he supplies casually.

You nod.

"Well, I could always come in and help you with that . . ."

"NO!" you practically scream, horrified and titillated by the idea at the same time.

Loki captures your chin, his tone firm but not scolding. "Indoor voice, please. And, little girl, I hope you know that no matter what you wear or in what situation we might find ourselves, if I think you should be accompanied _anywhere,_ at any _time_ , you most certainly will be?"

You swallow hard and nod again, hoping and praying that that won't ever, ever happen.

He puts the shortalls and the rest of what you don't need back into the valise. "I think we will put you in shorts and save the others for a day when we won't be out so long, but I think we'll use the t-shirt – it's cooler and easier to move in."

To your great surprise, he then reaches down to take the ancient t-shirt you sleep in when he's not there off over your head, slipping off the bed to crouch before you and tug down your barely there lace panties., giving them the eye as they pool at your ankles. "These are most unsuitable for you, aren't they? Step out, please."

You don't technically need to, but you can't resist the urge to put your hands on his shoulders while you do so anyway, and he throws them into the hamper, then reaches onto the bed for your little girl panties, holding them open for you to step back into, and you reverse the process. He tugs them up your legs until they're at your waist, then he pats your kitten covered bottom while you think you're going to blush so hard you die.

Loki arranges the t-shirt and goes to put it over your head, but you stop him with one word.

"Bra." You, not Littlest.

He knows exactly where your mind is at now, snarking back, "My, my, my. Little girls certainly have gotten advanced since my time – they're wearing bras nowadays?"

"There's no need for sarcasm, Sir, but there is a _distinct_ need for a bra." You gesture towards a bosom that, as far as you're concerned, needs support, although he's always disagreed with you vehemently about that. "I can't possibly let the girls go braless."

Loki then stands, making you wish you hadn't put such a fine point on it. "Oh, I beg to differ, and I suggest you remember both to whom you're speaking and who it is you are supposed to be at this moment."

It's your little who answers, "Yes, Sir."

But then he relents a bit, surprising you because he rarely does that. "But, I want this to be as stress free and fun a day as I can possibly make it, so I will provide you with invisible support via the shirt."

"Thank you, Sir."

He puts you into it. The t-shirt is a little loose and doesn't look or feel as horrid as your big had imagined it would, and does a pretty good job of corralling the girls, too. He helps you on with your shorts, then lifts you under your arms and puts you down on the side of the bed. He rummages through your sock drawer, coming up with only white ankle socks that seem appropriate for a little, and fetches your beat up old sneakers, bending down before you to dress you in both, even down to putting your foot on his bent leg and tying your shoe laces for you.

Once he's done, he lifts you down and gives you the once over. "Very cute! Perhaps for your birthday someone will give you some cute socks and sneakers, and maybe some more age-appropriate clothes. Would you like that?"

"Yes, please!"

"Why don't you go and brush your teeth and twinkle one more time before we go, then meet me back in the living room, and we'll make sure we've got everything we need before we go." He turns you in the direction of the bathroom door, then pats you along by your bottom while your blush burns brightly at what he just said, but you do exactly as he told you to.

He drives you there in his very expensive sports car, and you're half surprised he hasn't got a car seat for you. But he does help you into the passenger's side, and even buckles you in.

On the way to the park, he turns down the children's songs he has playing for you and says, "I want you to listen closely to me, little one, because although I want you to have tons of fun today, I also want you to be safe. It will be crowded and I don't want to lose you. You are to make sure you stay close to me and don't run off."

"Yes, Sir," you reply.

"But most of all, what are you especially _not_ to do today?" he asks quite seriously.

You know exactly what he means. "Worry 'bout nuffin'!"

"Exactly. Everything is all taken care of for you. You are to relax and enjoy yourself. You don't have to keep track of tickets or money or calories or time or anything, although I do want you to put your phone in your pocket, just in case. Other than that, I don't want to see any sign of Big from this moment on, or you will be punished. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"That's my good girl. We're almost there!"

It is most definitely one of the best days in your entire life.

Loki dotes on you the entire time, from the moment you arrive, when he reverses the process of putting you into the car as if it's something he does every day. Then, when you start to walk excitedly ahead of him, you hear that distinctly parental tone of his calling you back, and he takes your hand so that you can walk in together.

He pays for the whole works, too– the VIP tour, the behind the scenes stuff and the ability to skip to the head of any line, expertly guiding you throughout the entire day, trying to make sure you don't get bored. He makes sure you dabble at things - touring a little, riding the rides a little – munching on anything that strikes your fancy along the way – cotton candy, caramel apples, kettle corn – playing games and seeing the shows that interest you.

There is a beautiful old carousel at the middle of the park with wonderfully restored horses – it looks like something out of a little girl's dream - and, as he seems to like to do, he takes you on it himself although he hardly needs to, patiently following you around as you find just the right horse – and, you suspect, keeping everyone else off until you do so - lifting you onto your chosen steed and even standing there next to you, as any good Daddy would, with his arm loosely around your waist so that you won't fall off.

"Having fun?" he asks, smiling at you as you ride up and down on the beautiful pastel pink and blue horse that's elaborately decorated with ribbons and roses.

"Oh, yes, Sir – thank you so much!" You're so excited and happy that there are actual tears in your eyes as you say it.

He looks as happy as you feel at your pure joy. He pulls you down a bit so that your foreheads meet. "You are very welcome, babygirl."

You spend some time at the games area, and he lets you play your favorite game of all time –skee ball - and even plays right alongside you. Of course, every single one of his balls goes into the hardest to reach hole, earning you the max amount of tickets for his "efforts". You're pretty good yourself – and you don't have his magic helping you, only because he knows you wouldn't want it – but you get the majority of your balls into the places that earn you a reasonable score.

By the time you're sick of playing, you have a good handful of tickets, but Loki has literal volumes of them, and you are able to pick out any toy you want at the store, but instead you decide to give them to a child that you can see wants something that they don't have anywhere near the tickets for.

"That was a very nice thing to do," Loki beams down at you as he takes your hand and you walk out of the arcade. "I am very proud of you, littlest one."

"Thank you, D – Sir." You could barely keep yourself from calling him Daddy, but he doesn't seem to mind – although you would bet that he did notice your little stutter.

He sees you eying some of the bigger stuffed animals around one particular midway game, but when he asks you, you don't want to play.

"Whyever not?"

"Big says they're all rigged."

He gives you a raised eyebrow at that. "That comes dangerously close to thinking, young lady."

You giggle nervously. "Well, they prolly are."

So he steps up himself, looking down at you and asking, "Which one do you fancy, sweetheart?"

You look up at the prizes, and point at the stuffed, winged pink and white unicorn. "That one."

Then Loki asks the proprietor what he needs to do to earn that prize.

"You have to break four balloons that reveal that prize tier in particular. Even if you don't win what you want, each balloon will give you a small prize to take away, though," he says. "Three darts for five dollars, seven for ten."

He gives the man enough money for twenty eight darts, then proceeds to throw four – all of which reveal that you can have your choice of any of the top tier prizes, so you are given your unicorn.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" you squeal, hugging it tight around its neck.

He throws another four, and you choose a different enormous stuffed animal, this time a pink and purple polka dotted bear with a big purple bow around his neck.

The proprietor, by this time, is looking completely stumped.

Then Loki looks down at you. "Would you like to try, lovely?"

You nod, saying, "I don't think I'll be as good as you are at it, though!"

Loki looks down at you and winks. "Oh, I think you probably have a good chance." He hands you a dart, cautioning you to be careful of its sharp tip, then he watches you throw it. All four, of course, yield you another gigantic prize.

Your successes have drawn you a bit of a crowd, and the stuffies are piling up around you. You can hear a child crying around the fringe of the crowd, and you take the bear and give it to him. His tears dry immediately as he hugs the toy to him, and you do the same with the last prize you won.

"What a good and generous little girl you are!" he praises when you return to his side, patting your shoulder. "That was a lovely thing to do, doll."

Then Loki spots a little girl who reminds him of what you must've looked like as a child – although it's very obvious that her parents have had to scrimp and save to bring her there - and he goes over to them, as they are telling their sobbing child that they can't afford to buy her a chance at the game, and Loki hands them your last four darts.

Then, after smiling at their effusive thanks and bending down to hug the little girl who has attached herself to his leg in effusive gratitude, he tugs you a little away so that she can step up and play – while held up in her father's arms, and, lo and behold, you two watch from the sidelines as she wins a big toy for herself.

"That was very nice of _you_ , Sir," you compliment.

He smiles down at you, patting your head. "Well, you inspired me with your generosity in giving away the other stuffies you'd won, and she looks like I think you must've, Littlest." He doesn't mention that he also converted the family's passes to the same as theirs, sending a park employee over to tell them that, saying they had won some kind of raffle and that their entire stay at the park – soup to nuts - has been comped.

You're kind of wrestling with carrying the unicorn, so Loki vanishes it.

"Where'd it go?" you ask, looking around.

"She's in the car, waiting for us, so you can have your hands free, and I can keep mine free to help me keep you out of trouble. What would you like to do now, my darling?"

"I wanna ride a roller coaster!" you say, taking his hand and dragging him to the nearest one. You don't care what it is – wooden, stand up, steel, whatever – as long as it's a roller coaster, you'll love it.

But Loki looks a bit concerned, holding you back from joining the line and kneeling down before you. "I don't know, little one. Are you old enough or big enough to go on this ride? You won't get too scared or throw up or something?"

"Oh no! I love roller coasters!" You look up at him, narrowing your eyes. " _You're_ not scared to go, are you?"

He looks positively insulted at that question. "I most certainly am not! Shall we?" He offers you his hand, perfectly aware that he's being manipulated by a four year old, but also perfectly willing to go along with it because it makes her happy. He hadn't known that you liked them, and he found that to be somewhat surprising – you are not the daredevil type at all, as far as he could tell.

Once you are strapped in by the ride attendant, he reaches over and makes doubly sure that you are, which makes you feel just that extra, added bit of cared for. This whole day has made you feel that way. He's wiped your mouth and washed your hands for you when you had chocolate fudge brownie ice cream all over yourself, magicking away the spot of it that had spilled onto your shirt, bending down in front of you to tie your shoe laces when he noticed that they needed it, and generally looking after your safety and well being in a wonderfully protective and caring manner, while still being terribly indulgent of you.

And you _never, ever_ want this day to end!

Afterwards, once he's gotten off the ride and turned to help you, you are on an adrenaline high as you walk away from it, but he just looks somewhat confused at the whole experience, as if he was wondering why you thought it was so thrilling.

But then, he didn't really have the whole "fear of death" thing, and you most definitely did!

"You are unharmed?" he asks several times, his voice full of concern.

You give him your biggest, most fanatical grin. "OH YES, SIR! Do you wanna go again?"

You have to admit that he is an amazingly good sport throughout the whole day, riding all of the rides as many times as you want – although you only repeat the carousel and all of the roller coasters. The only thing he truly balks at are the water rides, which is okay with you. He isn't much of a fan of getting wet if he doesn't have to, and you prefer to leave those kinds of rides for very hot days, when you didn't mind getting wet, either.

The only thing that bothers you the entire day is nothing _he_ does – overtly, anyway. It's how blasted perfect – and unbelievably sexy – he looks at all times – and the fact that you are far from the only person to notice that fact. No matter how fast or hard the ride, he exits it looking as if he is just stepping away from a GQ photo shoot, and that attracts other, very interested, jealous, hungry and apparently myopic eyes, who couldn't even see you and certainly never bother to acknowledge you – some of whom offer him blatantly sexual favors while you are standing right there next to him, holding his hand!

Not that you can necessarily blame them. He's looking incredibly gorgeous, as always, in a pair of tight fitting black denim jeans and a dark gray henley that hugs all of his muscles quite lovingly. You can hardly believe he's with you, either, and you think that that's probably what the other women – and men - are thinking, too.

But he never once gives any of them the time of day, being quite polite to most of them, the most persistent of whom he flicked his fingers at and they suddenly are no longer buzzing around him.

"Where'd _they_ go?" you ask, a bit alarmed.

"I just transported them to the other side of the park. I don't pay them any notice, but I could tell that they were upsetting you, and I can't have that."

You look worshipfully up at him. "Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome, little love," he says, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "I think we should get something more substantial to eat than just the junk food we've been stuffing ourselves with. Which restaurant appeals to you the most?"

The waitstaff - as well as some of the patrons – aren't much better behaved than the other interested parties you'd encountered, so Loki surreptitiously makes the two of you less noticeable to everyone but your waiter so you that you can more fully enjoy yourself, and he also tones down some of the background noise, a bit, too.

You are sitting next to him in a circular booth, and it was as if someone had drawn a curtain around you. You feel very comfortable and cozy and relaxed. Your waiter was obviously interested in Loki, but that didn't stop him from doing his job quite well.

"How are your . . . what is that?" He looked at it like he didn't think it was actual food.

He was having a steak, which was one meal you knew he loved.

"Chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese, and they're both really good!" you said, dipping the tail end of a finger into a ramekin of truly excellent barbeque sauce.

That makes him smile. "I'm glad." He thinks the outing is going really well, and he is enjoying himself outright, but more so because you are so obviously happy, and it seems to him that you are truly very much a normal, natural little, which was what he had hoped would be the case today.

After dinner, you explore the parts of the park that you haven't been to – one where you both drove race cars – and he beat you, of course.

When he helps you out of the low lying car, you whisper, "I needa find a bathroom, please."

"Potty?" he corrects, deliberately making you blush.

"Yes, please," you whisper, refusing to meet his eyes. He spots one not far away and, holding your hand tightly, leads you there. "Now. I want you to go in and do what you need to do, but don't talk to any strangers, okay?"

You can't help but roll your eyes at him just a little, saying, "I know!"

But he is not at all satisfied by your response, taking your chin in his hand gently. "Be happy I'm not accompanying you _into_ the family bathroom, young lady."

You straighten up immediately at that. "Yes, Sir."

"Remember, straight in and straight out," he calls after you, to your intense mortification. He does this every time you have to go, and waits for you, just outside, with a lot of the other parents.

After which you ride the bumper cars again, and he keeps smacking into you while you scream and try to drive away from him – with not a lot of success, but the both of you are still laughing hysterically as he picks you out of your car and guides you back to the path you've been following.

He doesn't think you've noticed it yet, but since your mid-afternoon meal, he's been carefully guiding your course so that you're going to end up at the exit in not very long. He can see that, although you're still terribly excited to be there, you're also running out of steam and getting a bit tired, and perhaps leaning a little into cranky, even.

While you are walking towards another area of the park, you see a couple of the big, furry characters that wander around greeting guests and posing for pictures coming straight towards you, and you instinctively hide behind Loki, which surprises him.

But he doesn't question you about your reaction. Instead, he turns immediately and crouches down before you, pulling you between his legs so that he can hold you very tightly. One of them appears behind him, and you press yourself even closer to him, hiding your face and trembling with fear.

Loki holds you firmly enough that only the barest tips of your toes touch the ground, turning head just enough to address the character that is closest to you and say, in a voice you hope you never hear him use with you, "Go. Away."

The one that was bearing down on you is instantly diverted away from you, and no others approach you.

You're still clinging to him, though, while he's hugging you and patting your back, whispering, "He's gone, honey. You don't have to be afraid of him, if you don't want to, though. It's okay that you are, I understand. But I would never let anyone hurt you, Littlest. Not ever, okay? You are completely and utterly safe with me. You certainly don't have to meet anyone you who scares you."

He loves the fact that you grabbed onto him when you were frightened, but he does his best to soothe your fears, holding you until he can feel that you're no longer trembling.

Then he puts you down, his arms still around you, and dries your tears. "All right, my baby?"

You nod, if a bit tentatively.

"That's my good girl. Let's go get us some souvenirs, hmm? What do you think you might like? A hat? Or a t-shirt? You may have anything your little heart desires."

In the end, you get one of each, plus a stuffie he's seen you hold covetously, but put back, as well as some smaller things like fridge magnets and some pens with pink ink and a bumper sticker.

When you come out of the gift shop, Loki says, "Well, I think we've both had enough for today. We can come back another time, later in the day, and stay later and see the fireworks show and watch the parade. Let's head back to the car and we'll get you home. I think someone might need a nap."

But you flatly refuse to take his hand when he extends it to you, and you actually turn a bit away from him.

"NO! I don't wanna go home! And I don't wanna take a nap! I wanna stay here and ride more rides and play more games!" You're not quite yelling, but your tone is much closer to that than you've ever gotten to with him – with anyone, really. No part of you is much of a yeller.

"Come along, Littlest," the warning in his tone unmistakable and his hand is still being held out to you expectantly.

"NO!" You actually stomp your foot stubbornly, crossing your arms across your chest, bottom lip trembling. "I wanna stay _here_ an' see the fireworks tonight and watch the parade an' go on more rides an' -"

Loki knows that this is usual behavior for you – you're not naturally bratty at all, and he thinks you're probably just overtired from all of the excitement of the day, and the later it's gotten, the more crowded the park has become, too, which is probably stressing you out some. But, regardless of the motivation, he is not about to put up with it.

So he steps up to you, making you feel at least as little as you are in your head as you look all that way up at him, halting your tirade just as you are getting wound up. And, as he speaks - in that deep, much too quiet, extremely no nonsense tone - you immediately begin to stand down. "I cannot imagine, young lady, that you could possibly think that I _won't_ take your pants and panties down, bend you over my knee and spank you _right here, right now_ for this kind of thoroughly unacceptable display of brattiness. I will _not_ have it. Am I making myself _very_ clear?"

Already beginning to sob even before he threatened to spank you in front of all of these people - which he is absolutely right, you would in no way put past him - you feel the stubbornness drain out of you, to be replaced by a terrible sadness at how you've acted - and after he's been so amazing and generous to you all day - coupled with true exhaustion. "Yes, Sir," you whisper feebly. "I'm sorry."

But his highly disappointed tone does not abate in the least at your tearful apology. "We have had quite a wonderful day together, I think, and I was looking very much forward to many others like this with you, but if this is how you're going to act at the end of them, then I may have to rethink my future plans for us."

You hang your head and begin to sob in abject misery, more unhappy that he sounds disappointed in you than that he might not ever take you anywhere fun again, although that's a pretty awful thought, too.

Then he tips your chin up and your watery eyes meet his stormy ones. "You will, I am sure, realize that your naught behavior has earned you a very thorough spanking, which I will give you when we get home." He puts his hand out to you again. "Now come."

You immediately put your much smaller hand in his, following obediently along as he walks you to his car, where he settles you in again in that very Daddyish way, and you head home.

Quite subdued from that awful scene you caused, and a bit afraid of him because he's mad at you, you still remember your manners. "Th-thank you for taking me to the amusement p-park, Sir," you whisper forlornly.

Loki reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing it gently then lacing his fingers with yours. "You're welcome, lovely. Did you have a good time, I hope?"

"Yes, Sir, I did."

You yawn loudly then, and he relinquishes your hand. "Why don't you try to sleep, if you can? It'll be a while before we're home."

You nod, but you doubt you'll fall asleep. You don't really like to sleep in cars – you're too much of a control freak for that. You like to watch the road and front-seat-drive and keep track of what's going on, just . . . in . . . case . . .

But when he pulls into your driveway, all of the running around and excitement and heavy food have taken their toll, and you are sound asleep, and, as he looks down at you, having come around to help you out of the car, he is so filled with love for this very tender, vulnerable part of you that he does what any good Daddy would do and lifts you into his arms, easily holding you with his arm under your butt.

You try to rouse yourself as he's walking into the house with you that way, but he whispers, "Shhh, baby. Go back to sleep. No need to wake up. I've got you."

Although you know you should, you can't quite bring yourself to, so you drift back to sleep.

When you awaken, you are in your own bed, alone, and back in your sleep shirt. Surprised that he's left you by yourself, you get up and go to the bathroom, and when you come out, he's sitting there on the edge of the bed, and when those eyes - heavy with intent - settle on you, you are instantly little again. Perhaps littler than you ever have been in your life, knowing exactly why he is where he is.

"Come to me, Littlest," he says with quiet calm, holding out his arms to you.

Everything in you wants to run to him, to be held in those strong, sure arms, against his very big, solid body, but you also know that that is not where you will stay for very long, and so you hang back, somewhat stricken at the idea and trembling with fear.

Big had been spanked by him many, many times, and although he always makes it hard for her to bear, she is not afraid of him. The actual spanking, perhaps, a bit, because they are always quite unpleasant, despite her body's uncontrollable, telltale reaction to them.

But your little has never been spanked by him, and you know that he was very unhappy with your tantrum at the park, and you are quite afraid of both.

He tilts his head and chin down at you, though, and your feet have a mind of your own at that look, taking you closer and closer and closer to him, until he could, if he wanted to, reach out and pull you to him.

But he doesn't. Deliberately so, you would bet.

Loki can see your stark fear, and would love to soothe it, but before he does that, he wants you to come to him of your own free will, to submit yourself to his discipline because you know that it's the right thing to do – that that's the way things should be between you, rather than you being forced to do so because he's stronger than you.

Not that he'll allow you to avoid the consequences he's already set for you, should you balk, but he sincerely hopes that you will do what he knows that, deep down, you truly want to do.

His arms remain out to you until your are standing between his legs, and then he hugs you as if you are the most precious thing he has ever known, your arms climbing tentatively up around his neck to hug him back.

After which he picks you up to sit on one of his thighs, and you begin to shake, even though is voice is very soft and not at all frightening. "You know why I am sitting here, Littlest, don't you?"

"Yes," you answer unhappily.

"And why is that?"

Your eyes suddenly fill with tears. "Because you're going to spank me!" you cry.

He kisses your forehead, rubbing your back gently. "Yes, my dearest, I am. But, although it will not be fun, there is no need for you to be terrified, of it or me. Do I seem angry to you?"

"You were at the park!"

"No, I was not. I was disappointed in your behavior, not angry. Did I yell?"

You think back through what happened, although you don't really want to. "Well . . . no."

"Did I rant or rave or anything like that?"

"No, Sir."

"That's right, I didn't. I don't believe in yelling at little girls. I believe in _correcting_ them effectively enough that the behavior you have discovered I will not tolerate will likely never be repeated."

And with that, you find yourself over his knees, already panting and crying and he hasn't even laid a hand on you.

Yet.

Although your tears tug at Loki's heart, he is of a mind that you have built the spanking up to be something much more horrendous than it's going to be, so that the kindest thing he can do for you is to just do it.

So he moves the hem of your sleep shirt – that ends mid thigh – to the small of your back and lays his hand over your bare rear end. "Normally, my darling, you are one of the best behaved little girls I have ever known. Almost too much so, truthfully. But you behaved very naughtily when I told you that it was time to go home, and I think you knew that even as you did it. You said 'no' - defying me outright - and you even stomped your foot, refusing to take my hand when you knew I expected you to take it, and raising your voice to me very disrespectfully. I understand that you were very tired, but that does not excuse your behavior in any way."

You arch up, sobbing, "I – I – I'm s-sorry, Sir!"

"I know you are, babygirl, but I'm afraid that that caliber of misbehavior warrants a good, hard spanking."

And that was exactly what you got, starting right then.

You didn't think it was quite as long as some of the spankings you'd received from him when you were big, but it is definitely as powerful and absolutely as effective.

And when he has roasted your bottom to the degree that he has deemed was necessary to deter further behavior such as he saw earlier, he gathers you into his arms and hugs you, leaning his back against the headboard and cuddling you tightly, rocking the both of you slightly back and forth, whispering to you in a tone that is very hypnotic and soothing at the same time.

"All over and done. All taken care of. You never have to think about this again. You misbehaved and you were punished and I know you have learned that it is better not to behave that way again, and that is the end of it. I loved you before, I loved you when you were naughty, I loved you – probably the most - while I was punishing you, and I love you now. There is nothing you could do to change that in any way. You are safe with me, you are always, always my good girl, and you are always terribly, terribly loved."

Your mind caught on something he'd said, though. "You loved me most while you were spanking me? I don't understand. How could that be?"

"Punishing someone you love is not something you necessarily want to do, but it is something you feel you have to do, you want to help them to be the best person that they can. It is not an easy thing – especially because you're little, and every instinct I have makes me want to keep you from any possible kind of discomfort – to give the person you adore pain, to make them cry and beg you not to do it." He swallows hard then, startling himself – in saying how he was feeling about it out loud – by realizing just how hard it had been for him to do that. "But you know you _must_ do it, _because_ you love them so much."

You started out sobbing hard within his arms, but eventually it dies down to hiccoughing sniffles and you raise your head to look up at him. "I'm sorry, Sir."

He presses his lips to your forehead, wiping away what remains of your tears. "I appreciate that, sweetheart, but you don't have to say it. You are forgiven. I bear no grudges or anger towards you – never have, never will - because you almost always seek to please, maybe even more than is good for you, and I know you will always be sorry when you misbehave. You're that type of child. You're that kind of person. And I know that I will always need and want to be strong enough to make you even sorrier, because I adore you, and because I adore you, I will always hold you to a particular standard of behavior. That's why I make rules for you, and expect you to obey them and me, and why I will always punish you if you don't."

Loki holds you for the longest time, rubbing and patting you and hugging you tight until you are calm, then he carefully moves you so that you can lie on your side, facing him, still keeping you very close to him.

"I have an important question for you, babygirl," he says, brushing the hair out of your face.

Your eyes fly to his. "You do?"

"Yes."

"Okay . . ."

He smiles at how tentative you are. "Well, you've gotten to know me pretty well over these past weeks and months, I think. And I've gotten to know you. What I want to know is, how would you feel about me being your Daddy?"

You grin up at him, saying impertinently, "I think you're not very good at picking your times to ask me something like that, since my bottom is still on fire."

He looks completely unrepentant at that. "Good – that is as it should be. And as to my timing, so is that, really. The reality of being my little girl is that you will have rules to follow, and there will be consequences – like spankings or paddlings, depending on the misbehavior – if you ignore them, and I think that having a burning behind at this moment is a good thing - to remind you that having a Daddy will not always be an easy thing."

"But . . . there are good things about it, too . . . ?"

Loki nods. "I hope you think there are. I certainly do. There's bedtime stories and snuggling on Sunday mornings and getting hugs and praise and presents and being watched over and protected and taken care of and being the absolute, undisputed apple of my eye." He leans down to whisper conspiratorially, "Which you already are."

You look back at him in surprise. "I am?"

He plays with your hair and kisses your temple. "Of course! I was so proud of you today – giving away your tickets and your stuffies to other kids – I thought I was going to burst with it! You – and Big – always make me feel terribly proud to be a part of your lives."

That makes you feel amazing, and, of course, blush feverishly.

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again, knowing he doesn't like you to suppress questions, and definitely not wanting to earn another spanking!

"Can . . . Can I call you Daddy instead of Sir?" You're not looking at him, with a fistful of his shirt wrapped in your hand, trying to brace yourself in case he says no.

Loki's heart just melts at your hesitancy, as well as the poignancy of your request. "Of course! How could I not want you to call me that? It is the only thing that could possibly make our relationship even more perfect, little love. I have wanted to hear you call me that since I found out you existed. I just didn't want to presume, and I knew we needed some time to get to know each other first, and see if my becoming your Daddy was the best thing for the two of us. And I think it is. Do you?"

You beam up at him. "Oh, yes, I do, D-daddy!"

"Well, then, I cannot tell you how happy I am to have you as my own little girl, little one," he says, brushing your hair away from your eyes to smile down at you, and you hug your arms around his neck again, feeling his close around you securely, and you're certain that this is all you'll ever need to feel loved and safe and . . . complete for the rest of your life.


End file.
